Their Last Full Measure in Vietnam

A few years ago, I wrote a novel about what happened to America during the Vietnam war.
In my Baby Boomer g-generation, many of us went one way, and some of us went another.
Published in 2017, King of Soul told a story of what happened here, Stateside, on a college campus in 1969-70. In writing the book, I included scenes from Vietnam. To properly depict the challenges and hardships that our soldiers faced there, I retrieved, from several reliable sources, accounts of several battles.

In order to maintain accuracy and give honor where honor is due, I lifted and carefully rewrote a long passage from Dave Galloway's memoir,
We Were Soldiers Once, And Young, by Lt. Gen. Harold G. Moore and reporter/author Joe Galloway.
My rewritten account of certain events at the battle of Ia Drang is found in chapter 6 of my book. On this Memorial Day, I want to call your attention to the bravery and dedication demonstrated by our troops. Here is an excerpt of my retelling of what the "Lost Platoon" endured on that fateful day, November 14, 1965 :

       So Lt. Henry got hit; he was kneeling when he caught the fatal bullet. A few moments later, his replacement in command, Sgt. Palmer took a bullet in the head, was suffering and then a grenade landed nearby and snuffed the life out of him.
       The encircled infantrymen of the Lost Platoon were all on the ground now, unable to raise their heads because, to do so, and they knew it, would bring instant death. They shifted into defense positions. Suddenly a mass assault came from three directions; they slapped their M-16s on full automatic and mowed down the oncoming enemy.
       Now with eight or nine men of the platoon’s twenty-nine down, and thirteen wounded, they were caught under fire in a 25-yard perimeter. Medic Charlie Lose crawled from man to man, treating their wounds, amping up their resolve, boosting their courage, keeping the breath going in and out of their lungs, the blood running through their arteries, the pain down to a dull roar as much as possible, the bandages going on and the defensive bullets going out, serving up medical treatment and administering raw courage itself with all that life support.
       Sgt. Rob, platoon weapons forward guy, now in charge, had radioed elevations and deflections from the lost platoon’s position so that Specialist Vincent, down below, could help protect them with closely-placed mortar rounds fired from the LZ. When they ran out of mortar rounds, the mortar crews grabbed their personal weapons and started up the hills to assist Sgt. Rob and whatever was left of 2^nd Platoon.
       A hell of a lot of fire was raining down on the guys up on the ridge; the only cover they had was the rise of the hill itself. Sgt. Rob said to Sgt. Ernie we gotta get out of here; stood up, and immediately got shot in the head, fell over backwards on a log, the radio on his back. Sgt. Ernie, now in charge after Lt. Henry, Sgt. Carl and now Sgt. Rob had all gone down, reached under the log, grabbed the radio handset and called in more artillery and mortars. He told the guys down below he would direct their fire in as close as possible. The artillery guys never could establish the platoon’s position exactly, but Lt. Riddle could adjust fire based on Sgt. Ernie’s sensing.
       And that is what they did, shot mortar rounds all around the stranded guys, without killing them, but instead killing the NVA soldiers who were assaulting them from three sides.

I have appreciation for our guys who went over there and served in Vietnam while I, and many thousands of others, were skating through on a student deferment or a high draft number.
Over 58,000 of those guys gave their last full measure of devotion, so they never came back. On this Memorial Day, we honor them along with all the thousands of men and women who have defended our nation during these 225 years of prospering in Constitutional  freedom.



And to all you Reserve, Active and Veteran citizens of this United States of America, thank you for putting your life on the line for us! Keep up the good work!

King of Soul

Vietnam in US

We were there for a long long time.

Our military presence there was a sign:

America would uphold capitalist resistance

against Viet Cong communist insistence.

In the end it didn't work out that way:

The North moved onto the the South to stay.

Sound familiar?

After years of war hemophilia.

We started with an idea to protect the world

against communist incursion that swirled

throughout Asia and Europe and South America,

so dominoes wouldn't fall on US in America.



Kennedy had good intentions,

as Cold War assumed gargantuan dimensions.

He sent in the advisors and trainers,

as if the whole project were a strategic no-brainer.



Johnson stepped up the escalation,

had his guys doing all the right calculations.

But when McNamara found doubts and resigned,

then Cronkite and New Hampshire consigned.

Old Lyndon's stress and strain were now showing.

He could see where this whole damn thing was going.

So Ho and his insurgents unearthed new determination

to turn Vietnam into a Communist nation.



Along came Nixon with all that American bluster,

and the waning resolve that a silent majority could muster.

Although Nixon was stubborn, he got paranoid and stumbled.

I guess he, and we, needed to be humbled.



There began, during that time of our national distress,

a cultural fissure we find it hard to redress:

there's them that went, and them that didn't go.

As one who didn't go, I want you to know--

you who fought in the shadow of the Ho Chi Minh trail--

you went and you fought; you did not fail.



In some lessons we stand, but in others we fall;

the truths you taught us were the hardest of all.

You were the brave; you who bore the burden, the few.

We couldn't have known what to do, but for you.

The battles that men make and the wars that we fight

are borne, in our own American way, in the desire to do right.

Looking back on it, I think it's plain to see:

all we were wanting was to make the world free.



That old war began with us in Vietnam,

but it ended with Vietnam in us,

a haunting memory that'll never go away: jungle patrols long gone,

body counts and trumpets that end in a hush.



If you visit the Vietnam War Memorial today,

you'll see Washington's Memorial beyond the long wall, granite gray.

At the end of the other angled plane, set your sights on Lincoln's dedication:

to honor those who bled and died for our upstart nation.

Remember those brave slain at Gettysburg, Verdun, the Bulge, Korea, Saigon,

who lifted freedom's defense at Iwo Jima, Ia Drang, Hue and Khe Sanh.



Yes, now it's time, our old grievance to acknowledge:

some served in hell while others were in college.

But hey, let us now endeavor,

because we hope our noblest intentions can live forever.

Let us give honor to those brave souls who, in firefights across the ocean,

paid the dear price of our liberty with their last full measure of devotion,

whether they be now dead,

or with post-traumatic stress instead,

still alive.

That aint no jive.

Strive.

Don't ever give up.

Now wha'sup?



Glass half-Full